


Their Prize

by Captain_Kiri_Storm



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Brock Rumlow, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Brock Rumlow is Tired, Crack Treated Seriously, Dark Comedy, Discussions of Murder, Fluff and Smut, Food Issues, Found Family, Gen, HYDRA Trash Party, I am a Dumpster Fire, I saw a shit post on tumblr, I'm Going to Hell, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Quote: I'm with you 'til the end of the line, Rough Sex, Sacha the Menace, Sarcasm, Team as Family, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Why Did I Write This?, bad ideas abound, messed up relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-02-07 23:29:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 6,558
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21466291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Captain_Kiri_Storm/pseuds/Captain_Kiri_Storm
Summary: There are days when Brock Rumlow wishes he wasn't so good at his job, because HYDRA has a weird way of rewarding him. First it was taking charge of the Asset (who he still hasn't managed to break), then it was being invited to the "parties" and watching as Jack gets drunk on champagne worth more than their lives. Unfortunately, some has to stay sober enough to drive home and that someone happens to be Brock.Alcohol and food issues don't mix well anyways.Brock's pretty sure he's supposed to kill the "prize" he was given for blowing up an interstellar pirate ship but then, he didn't get to where he is today by following all the rules. He might be tempted, of course, but that doesn't mean he's going to pull the trigger, no matter how annoying that little shit is. Course, once he knows what said little menace found, he might think differently.Unless he's fleeing into the arms of his sworn enemy, of course.
Relationships: Brock Rumlow/Original Male Character(s), Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow, Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow/Original Male Character(s), James "Bucky" Barnes/Jack Rollins/Brock Rumlow
Comments: 29
Kudos: 34





	1. Chapter 1

Sometimes shit happened. Sometimes Brock was the one _making_ shit happen. He figured it was part of the job description - something he hadn't read in the contract. If there even was a contract. Or it hadn't been conveniently destroyed in the oh-so-innocent SHIELD purges that happened every three years. Brock made a point of dropping off his own documents and not asking one of the interns to do it for him, because the last thing he needed was for some snot nosed frat boy to read his three AM ramblings about the Asset or copies of Jack's drunk texts. It was bad enough that he got ribbed for being "basically married" to his SIC. It would be worse if someone read Jack's horrible poetry or found pictures of the Asset snuggled into their bed.

Brock was pretty sure that bedtime stories and stuffed dragons weren't what you were supposed to give a creepy Soviet assassin. Some of them, however, liked getting a good night's sleep and certain creepy Soviet assassins woke up, screaming bloody murder, unless he was tucked into_ Brock's_ bed. Brock liked to think he had an arrangement with Pierce: I will keep the Asset in tiptop condition and you won't kill me for spoiling him. It was nice to think about, even if he knew it didn't actually exist. If Pierce knew what he allowed the Asset to do (and he'd dubbed him Winter), Brock was pretty sure he'd find himself chained to a steel table with pliers in his gut.

Well. _That_ was a cheery thought and about the right thing to put him off his lunch.

Brock shuffled his feet as he followed the older man through the winding rabbit warren known as the Triskelion. Alexander Pierce was an older man, with sharp blue eyes and greying dirty blonde hair. His face seemed drawn and lined and there was something dark in his eyes. Brock had seen the man rip someone's heart out of his chest. Pierce might have been the top dog in the HYDRA pile, but he still liked to get his hands dirty. Brock wondered how he dealt with the nightmares. Jack drank. Brock went to the gym and picked up strangers when he should have stayed home. Brock often wondered just how deep HYDRA went, but he wasn't stupid enough to try and hack. The last guy who did that was fed to dogs. Literally.

"Do you know why you're here?" Pierce's voice was as cold as ice and he didn't even bother looking at Brock. He kept his back turned, his hands clasped behind his back. Brock thought there was gore under his nails. "You may speak, Agent Rumlow." He paused, turning his head and casting a calm eye over Brock's bruised and battered body. "I didn't bring you here to kill you, you know."

"Thank you, sir." Brock inclined his head and tapped his foot. It was a stress thing. "I dunno why I'm here, but I'd like to get to the medical wing, if I could. I got shot and I landed hard." They couldn't all be Captain America. After all these years, Brock never did master the art of parajumping.

"All in good time," Pierce softly said. He turned on his lamp and sat down beyond his scarred desk. Brock knew which stains were blood and which ones were ink. He'd seen a man sprawled out on top like an Aztec sacrifice. Hell, he'd had to stand there as Pierce took his time killing the poor sot. Pierce twitched his lip some, perhaps in some odd parody of a smile, as he picked up his elegant pen. "You see, Agent, I've been hearing things about you. _Good_ things. Your control of the Asset rivals my own. I'd like to know your secret."

_Well, shit._ "Hot baths and soup," Brock ventured. He shrugged. "If it doesn't behave, it doesn't get any of that. I allow it a mattress in the basement and it is very well aware that if it doesn't perform, it will be punished and sleep on the concrete." All of that was a total lie, but Brock was a good enough actor that he got away with it. Besides, the Asset knew which side of the bread was buttered. He'd rather live with Brock and Jack rather than be poked and prodded by the white coats all the damn time. Brock didn't blame him. He was signed up for a version of the supersoldier serum and he was_ not_ looking forwards too it. Brock didn't trust Nikita Sobakin to actually do what he was told.

Sobakin did what he wanted, when he wanted. He liked to experiment, too. Brock had seen some of his handy work and still had the nightmares.

Pierce raised a brow. "A different method than I would have thought."

"I used to train dogs. If it works with a mutt, it works with the Asset," Brock ventured. Then again, he'd worked with coydogs and one of the things you learned from that was how to be patient. Brock's prize, a majestic black male named Satan, was currently having the time of his life as a stud dog for some dog breed. Brock shrugged and sat down. "I used to raise coydogs. There's nothing it can't do that Satan hasn't done better."

"Be that as it may, I think you need a reward for your good job," Pierce said. Brock figured this was about the pirates and the attack on the_ Star_. That one had been a clusterfuck from the get go and it was only with some quick thinking that the pirates wound up dead. There had been some causalities, something that was being hidden from the press. Three of Brock's men had died taking that old freighter. And all because some asshole read the charts upside down. Brock might have throttled the chucklefuck who did it. Pierce stood again and paced. "There is a... gathering coming up. It would be very good for your career. I don't expect you to bring the Asset, but bring your..._ partner_."

"Can I pass?" Brock asked.

"Do I need to send you to Section Eight for an attitude adjustment?" Pierce softly asked. "I'm not giving you a choice, Agent Rumlow. I tolerate you and Agent Rollins just as long as you do your jobs. I'm sure the President would love to know about the things you do on your time off."

Brock sighed. "Is there gonna be champagne?" he asked. Jack was going to get drunk, like he always did, and Brock was going to have to stay sober. Or he could throw caution to the wind and risk a Lyft. Brock mulled that one over for a minute. He couldn't risk it. Jack got loose lipped when he was drunk and Brock didn't want to kill some college kid.

"The very best." Pierce smiled and squeezed Brock's hands. "I'll see you on Wednesday at 7:30 and have Rosita send you a scheduling reminder." He paused and smiled. "And Brock... you might want to drive yourself. Just a precaution."

Brock bowed his head and left the office as quickly as he could. If he doubled over in the stairwell and lost his K rations, well, that was his problem and no one else's.


	2. Chapter 2

Anything requiring being 'social' really wasn't something Brock thought he was good at. He could do it, of course, but only if he had too. A honeypot, he could do. Play the smiling soldier for whoever it was, then blast 'em to the other world. He could pick up people at the bar or gym. He figured some of them thought he was a prostitute. Brock honestly didn't care, either way. Sometimes he just needed to forget. HYDRA managed to get Brock out of all the SHIELD mandated psycho-babble and sometimes Brock wondered if that was a good idea or not. Maybe he'd do better with some shrink picking his brains. Or maybe Pierce just didn't want to waste a bullet. There was too much paperwork involved and you couldn't just wipe a human like you could wipe Winter.

Brock had disposed of that experiment. He liked to think of that one as a mercy kill - there hadn't been much left of the poor devils. Sobakin hadn't seemed to care that he'd left six people nothing more than shuddering, drooling messes. How Winter survived the wipes was beyond Brock. Maybe there was some chemical compound that Sobakin had forgotten about. Or Sobakin just felt like killing that day. There really was no telling.

Brock pulled at the edge of his suit, wishing he could strip the damn thing right off. At least Jack was having fun. He'd found the wine bar and was either stuffing his face or enjoying the free booze. Brock just stood in the corner and looked uncomfortable. He tried to ignore the so-called 'party favors', too. If he ever made it on the rich list, Brock was pretty sure he'd be doing something like buying an island instead of buying a _person_. They were pretty, yes. Small, lean things with flashing eyes and too perfect smiles. Brock was pretty sure all the slaves were boys, though there was one of two that he just couldn't tell. Maybe he needed to lay off the screwdrivers or swap the vodka for sprite.

Pierce had said to drive them. Jack was going to be shitfaced, so there was no way he could get them both home. Brock did love the man. He just didn't know to tell Jack without getting a few weird looks. Especially not here. This was a bit too wealthy for a soldier's love. No one was wearing their partner's dog tags. Brock's best suit wasn't a patch on the expensive silks and damasks, studded with gold and gems. The place glittered like the starlit sky and Brock thought he was going to gag from the stinking perfume. The boys looked like they were drugged out of their paper thin skulls. One of them, though, looked like he was there, just a little bit. Brock felt for him, but his hands were tied.

Besides, he was a mercenary, not fucking Captain America.

If they had brought Winter here, there was no telling what they'd do with him. Brock tried to ignore the piles of toys on the table and where some of the boys were getting dragged off too. He didn't have the stomach for that sort of thing. Brock did a lot - hell, he'd done things that would get him killed if the brass ever got wind of it. But he'd been on the receiving end of rape more than once. He wasn't heaping that particular indignity on anyone if he could help it. Rape was one of those things that happened in a war zone. It was a tactic, just like any other, but it was one Brock wouldn't use unless he was ordered. He liked to think he had _some_ principles.

One of the brass grabbed the bright eyed boy's hair and yanked his head back. Brock cringed. That looked like it had to hurt. He quietly wished he could be drinking something stronger, like Jack or Collier, but that wasn't in the cards for him. He picked at the plate of fancy food, his belly turning before he managed to get a few bites down. It tasted like ash in his mouth, like it had soaked up the perfume and human sweat. Brock tossed the plate away and wandered through the crowd. He really liked to think he was a simple man with simple pleasures. Tickets to the Superbowl, a good steak dinner, a craft beer, permanent custody of the Soldier, time off with Jack... Brock would prefer all of that to this stupid party where he didn't belong.

He kept to himself and tried to ignore the cries of pain. The bright eyed boy stayed with him, though. He was pretty - if Brock was into that sort of thing. He looked too damn small to be healthy, though, and Brock could barely afford to feed the Soldier on the weekends. Adding medical bills would damn near break him. Brock rubbed his face a little, looking around the dimly lit room with weary eyes. The place was draped in glowing blue silk and he swore he could see a holographic moon and stars. Whoever was hosting this thing had no idea how much money they were dropping. It seemed strange to him, that you could waste money on weird looking mushrooms, wine, and slaves.

Brock shouldn't have been there. He hadn't had much of a choice, but this wasn't the crowd he ran with. He was a _mercenary_, from Cotaco County, Alabama. He wasn't exactly a high roller and honestly, his eyes were glazing over with all the small talk. Yes, he liked hearing the HYDRA brass talk. No, he didn't like having to be there. The office grapevine was a lot less likely to get him killed, for one. At least he could rely on his team to do what he told them. It wasn't like he could do this here. Brock tried to ignore Senator Moore and the way he pawed at the boy. Brock took a step back. The kid wasn't his. He didn't know why the kid was sticking with him, but he needed to get lost before he got both of them killed.

Pierce walked over right before Brock decided to grab Jack and fuck off. The man smiled, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I don't think you're enjoying yourself, Commander."

"I ain't one for parties," Brock mumbled. He tried to think quickly and finally gave the man a wry smile. "Shootin' beer cans off a porch with family's more my style. This? I'm a coyote being marched around at the dog show." Brock tried to shut his mouth. So he liked dogs. So he doted on Satan and let Marisa borrow him on the regular. It wasn't like they'd kill him. Well, he hoped. He stepped back on, swearing internally as Pierce followed him. "Feel like I'm about to get killed here."

"You won't." Pierce drew him closer. "I have a gift for you. Take your... partner and go to Room Three-Oh-Four."

Brock swallowed. This wasn't what he wanted to hear. "Sir... with all due respect, I don't have much time for the "finer things in life", as they say. If it's too weird, I'll feed it to my dog."

"That doesn't bother me." Pierce grinned and Brock felt like he was less than an inch tall. "In fact, I'm hoping you'll give it a nice ride out. And by nice, Commander Rumlow, I mean that it never bothers me ever again." His grin made Brock feel like he was about to get gutted, right there. He figured no one would try to stop Pierce if the bastard drew a knife. It was HYDRA. Life was cheap. Shit happened and sometimes Brock was the one doing it and sometimes he was the one downhill. Brock just wished he could get off this ride.

"I can do that," Brock said. He looked around, noticing the way Moore was looking at Pierce.

Pierce smiled some. "I see the surprise has been ruined." He stalked over and grabbed the boy, digging his fingers into a slender arm. The boy yelped. His dirty blonde hair had been braided and what looked like bits of golden thread glittered in the dim light. The boy stumbled some. He was drugged, Brock could tell, but something inside the older man snarled. He _wanted_. Even though he knew he shouldn't, he wanted. Pierce only gave Brock a wry smile before he shoved the boy into Brock's arms, along with an electronic room key.

Brock's cheeks burned, but he wasn't passing up on this. Not after this hellhole of a "party".


	3. Chapter 3

Brock tried to be gentle, he really did. He'd been on the receiving end of enough things that he never wanted it done to him. That said, right now, he wanted and he was having a hard time saying no. The boy himself didn't see to be put up that much of a fuss. He squirmed under Brock's tight grip, yes, but other than that, he wasn't protesting. That was all Brock needed. He pulled the boy into his rooms and got him to the bedding. The boy looked up with hooded, blue grey eyes as Brock pressed a string of kisses down his neck. He wasn't wearing much, just a sheer skirt and a few pieces of glittering jewelry, and that came of quickly. The boy's cheeks were flushed and his eyes were wide.

He still said nothing. This was making Brock a bit nervous.

He pulled off, resting a hand on the boy's arm. "Too fast? Too much? What do you want?" He didn't want to push, do to someone else what had been done to him. Brock kissed the boy's lip gently, his eyes dark. "Please talk to me. I..."

"It's alright." The boy's words were slurred and he lay back, his eyes focused on the ceiling. Brock stripped off his own clothing, leaving it in a pool on the floor. He stepped over them and drew a gentle hand down the boy's narrow chest. He was so much smaller than Brock was. It was like he was made of glass and Brock didn't want to tear him. Or, worse, break something. He wasn't what one would consider small. Brock went back to kissing him before finally working up the courage to slip a single finger in the boy's hole. He was already loose and slick and he squirmed some, his eyes a little glazed. Brock took the opportunity to line himself up and push fully into him.

The boy _mewled_. Brock paused, kissing his cheek, before he settled into an uneven pace. The boy didn't move as much as Brock wanted him too. He keened and mewed, his nails scratching down Brock's back. Brock kissed him harder, nipped at him some, and rolled his hips in a way that made the boy cry out. Brock hoped it was in pleasure. He still hadn't found the boy's spot yet, but he was looking. When he found it, the boy jolted. He yelped and tried to scratch at him even more. Brock held down his wrists, thrusting harder and grunting as he started to get close. The boy looked like he was close, too, and Brock wanted to cum after he did. On an impulse, he dipped his head and bit over the boy's nipple, making him scream.

Going by the mess, that felt good. Brock rolled his hips another few times before he came himself. He slumped over the boy, breathing harder and swallowing some. The boy pawed at him, like he wanted Brock off of him, and Brock obliged. He managed to move them both so the boy was tucked into his arms. He felt better, he thought. Brock was a bit more relaxed and, for the first time in ages, he actually felt hungry. Jack had given him a rule - no matter the time, he had to eat if he was hungry. As much as he wanted to just lay there, it wouldn't feel right to just ignore a rule that had been made for his benefit. He loved Jack and Jack loved him. It would feel like a betrayal to just ignore him.

"Are you hungry?" Brock asked. He grabbed his tablet, found the room service app, and started to look for something that he might enjoy. If he could actually stomach food, he liked eating. Today hadn't been a good day and he was trying to eat at least once every day. Brock nudged the boy and showed him the pictures. "I don't bite. Usually."

The boy picked himself up and pointed to pizza with shaky hands. He wasn't talking. Brock didn't know why, but he kept the boy pressed into him, under the blankets, before he ordered the rest of the food. He was pretty sure it would be delivered to them, in the rooms, and he wasn't sure how well the boy would take to having his naked body put on full display. He tried to tell himself he was being considered. In reality, Brock wasn't getting a good feeling about any of this. Pierce had wanted him to do something to this boy, something that probably went beyond a quick fuck, cuddling, and snacks. Brock tried not to think about that and Jack's reputation for being violent.

To be fair, that reputation was well earned. Jack came from a long line of mercenaries and he had a thing for getting it done. If that meant he had to walk through and kill everyone, he was more than willing to do that. Brock was considered a violent animal by default. He'd heard some of the running jokes - that Jack killed homeless people for fun and they couldn't fuck because no one could decide on who had to take it up the ass - and he tried not to lose his temper. If some of the jokers got winged, well, STRIKE Alpha was a military unit. Shit happened. It wasn't his fault that some idiot nearly got himself killed because he couldn't keep away from the bullets.

"What's your name?" Brock softly asked. He stroked the boy's face, still watching the door. "I'm Commander Rumlow, if that helps."

The boy looked down and shook his head. "I don't r-remember," he whispered. He looked up with haunted dark eyes. "They did something... and I don't remember it. I... Please don't punish me..."

Any hope of Brock's getting it up died with those words. All Brock could do was hold the boy close and wait on the food, wondering just what he'd gotten himself into.


	4. Chapter 4

Brock held the boy close to him, tracing circles over his chest. The kid was young - too young. Brock had no idea how old he was, but it clearly wasn't old enough. It was that, or HYDRA had figured out how to keep them young for longer. The last Brock had heard about it, they had been testing it on rats. You knew something was inhumane when the HYDRA techs were using animals instead of some poor sot. A few were kids who got snatched off the street. Others were prisoners - certain politicians could be bribed to "lose" prisoners - and the rest were whoever the techs could round up at any given time. Brock's belly turned as he looked down at the kid. What if the kid had been snatched of the streets?

What would he do if he hurt someone the way he'd been hurt? Brock didn't know if he could live with himself. Well, better than he was doing already.

He looked up when Jack came staggering into the little room. For once, Jack didn't complain about the hotel room or wonder how they were going to pay for anything. In fact, he looked like he was drunk off his face. Jack collapsed on the bed and pulled Brock into a sloppy kiss. Brock kissed back eagerly, his cock stirring some. He usually didn't come twice in one night (it was rare that his body show its arousal at all) and he sighed softly. Jack kissed him deeper, harder. Brock rolled over on the bed. He pushed the boy out of the way and pulled a very drunk Jack on top of him. Jack tasted of champagne and his movements were slow and uncoordinated. Brock didn't care. He loved his husband and he loved having him.

Especially if they weren't in a safe house bathroom or in the back of a helicarrier. Brock hated the last one, the metal bashed on his legs and he usually got scraped up. If he wanted to do sexy fun times, he wanted to do sexy fun times on a bed. Or at least a padded surface - he wasn't very picky after he'd been 'initiated'. As long as there was plenty of lube, he was pretty much down to fuck. Jack knew he was willing to do pretty much anything. He didn't try to push Brock too far. They had a safe word and both of them used it. That said, Brock did like to be manhandled if he knew who was doing it. He groaned softly and reached for the lube. He had a feeling that he was going to need it.

Jack growled at him and tried to turn him over, his fingers fumbling. "I want you, damn it. I want you so fucking much."

Brock kissed him and sighed softly as he got on his belly. Jack rutted against his leg, trying to grab at the sheets. It had been a bit since they did this and never when Jack was completely shit faced. Jack was usually the image of self control - calm, polished, and ready to take action. Right now, he could barely figure out where to stick his dick. Brock stretched himself quickly and keened, arching his back. He didn't want to spread himself, that brought back too many bad memories, and groaned as Jack got the idea. Jack managed to straddle him and started to press inside. Brock dropped his head to the pillow, panting softly. This was the part he liked the best, the stretch and burn, the feeling of being_ full_.

"J-Jack..." Brock whined some, trying to push back. Jack gripped his hip somewhat clumsily. He started thrusting and groaning, bracing himself against Brock's shoulder. Brock heard himself whining. He couldn't stop the sounds or the way he called for Jack. Jack didn't make as many sounds, but going by the way he was grunting, he was enjoying himself. That was good. Brock felt a little perverse pleasure in how well he pleasured his husband. Jack groaned and gripped his hip tighter. Brock pushed back, groaning. He dropped a hand under himself and started stroking in time with Jack's thrust. He could feel his own pleasure building and he called out as he got closer.

This was good. This was better than good - this was _great_. Any time he got to have with his husband was better than just getting himself off in the shower.

Jack panted and pawed at Brock. His coordination was slipping and he was starting to get slower. Brock tried to encourage him, tried to push back and make this worth it, but it was hard and Jack seemed to be only interested in his own pleasure. Brock tossed his head back and arched as he came. He groaned softly - the loudest he ever got - and he slumped down. Jack finished after him. He slumped over Brock's body, pressing his face into Brock's shoulder. Brock just lay there. Jack was much heavier than he was and this was one reason why they never really fucked like this. Jack liked to snuggle and that usually meant that he didn't want to move after sex.

Brock had been in worse places that this. He shifted around some so Jack wasn't crushing his ribs and tried to get comfortable. He felt soft and fuzzy - the aftermath of the hormone dump - and he really just wanted to sleep. Preferably in clean sheets, because he was lying on his own spend. Brock didn't like that. He tried to get Jack off of him, but the other man just slumped a little bit more. Brock nudged him some. Jack's hips dug into his body. It was starting to hurt andhe hated it. Jack didn't know how bony he was or how much he weighed. He liked to sleep and he liked to cuddle - he was already wrapped around Brock like a sort of octopus.

Then Brock had an idea. The kid could get a wet cloth or two. Or three, going by the size of the wet spot. The hotel lady was going to have fun with this tomorrow, but he would leave a twenty as a tip. He rolled over as best he could, nudging the kid with his foot. He'd cuddled up on the floor, trying to use a towel as a blanket. Brock swore under his breath. The kid needed a blanket. It wasn't right for him to freeze his ass off while everyone else was good and warm. Brock nudged the boy a little bit more, before he was finally rewarded with a pair of sleepy blue eyes. The boy stretched out for a minute before he picked himself up. Brock felt a little bit bad - he had woken the kid up, after all - but he banished that quickly.

"I need you to get me three warm wash clothes," Brock instructed. He glanced over to Brock and kissed his cheek. "You, my love, are going to get me in trouble one of these days." He already had, but that was par for the course.

The boy got up and staggered into the bathroom. He moved slowly, like he was in pain, and Brock cringed just a little. He never meant to hurt the kid, but if he had... well, there wasn't much he could do about it. He could try to help but there really wasn't much he could. He could just wait, though, and hold his husband. That would have to be good enough for now.

He hoped.


	5. Chapter 5

If there was one thing Brock loved about being with Jack, it was that the other man didn't ask a lot of questions. Brock knew exactly how fucked up he was. One did not work a lifetime of honeypot missions and come out the other side as pretty as an angel. Saying that he had intimacy issues was an understatement of the century. Brock tended to blank out during sex - he'd slept with enough homophobic Senators under Pierce to warrant that - and Jack knew that it wasn't his fault. What Brock liked was the "after" part. He liked cuddling with Jack and watching him slowly wake up in the morning. Brock rarely, if ever, took the lead during sex and if he did, well, that was probably because Pierce gave him the good pills.

He buried his nose into Jack's side, nipping his ear slightly. "Wake up, sleepy head. Wait til you see the shower in this place."

"Don't you ever wake up at a decent hour?" Jack grumbled. He rolled over and gave Brock a scratchy kiss on the cheek. "Go back to sleep, Brock. They're not even serving breakfast yet."

"Might I interest you in the magic of room service?" Brock lightly suggested. "C'mon. We don't even have to pay for it." He kissed Jack again and pawed through his lover's long hair. Jack just grumbled and drew the blankets over his head.

Brock could take a hint. He wasn't stupid. He rolled out of bed, playfully slapping Jack in the ass before he hit the floor. Jack slapped in his general direction, but he was asleep five seconds later. Brock just sighed. He figured it was nice to sleep like that. He undressed quickly, leaving his filthy clothes in a heap. He grabbed a towel from where they had been folded up beside the door and he knew full well that Jack could see his naked ass. He was still sore, though, but in a good way. Jack hadn't hurt him. He'd been rough, yes, but no rougher than someone like Senator Dickwad had been after he pounced in a storage room. Brock sorely wished that he could have broken that creep's nose, but Pierce had the man working for HYDRA now.

The bathroom was a work of art. Brock paused for a minute, taking the place in. It was all done up in a sleek, modern style, with recessed lighting and one of those hot tubs that seemed to blend into the floor. Brock walked over the cool tile and started the shower. He ran it a few minutes, just to warm it up, as he debated on the soap to use. The fucking soaps had been coordinated with the tile, so everything was a shade of brilliant amber or creamy brown. Brock thought that was just a bit much. Still, though, he liked the way sandalwood smelled, so he picked that and began his morning routine. One thing that he'd forgotten to pack was a razor. Brock did shave himself, but that was only because body hair and tactile suits didn't mix very well.

Plus, it was a habit he'd gotten into overseas. There were just things you did when you were surrounded by miles of dust, sand, storms, and hostiles.

Someone knocked on the door. Brock groaned softly. His frazzled brain didn't provide any helpful clues as to who it was - Jack would just invite himself in - and he couldn't exactly order coffee from the shower. He rubbed his face some. Why couldn't this have happened when he was a little more awake? Whoever it was knocked again and Brock gritted his teeth.

"Come in!" he bellowed. Of course, he knew Jack was up by now. There was no way he could sleep through Brock clattering around in the morning.

Brock could hear soft feet outside the shower. He blinked the soap out of his eyes, finally noticing a pair of baby blues that stared right back at him. Brock blinked. Memories from last night came flooding back. Thankfully, they were good ones and he didn't feel the need to down a pint at oh-six-hundred hours. He motioned for the boy to join him and even turned up the temperature when he noticed how cold the kid was. He seemed smaller in the morning. Almost like he was trying to make himself smaller or something. Brock just hummed as he washed the boy down. He was gentle, not trying to hurt him, but even Winter could have noticed how the kid leaned into his touches.

"Did I wake ya?" Brock softly asked. He judged the boy down and helped him out of the bath. The kid was almost his height, but he was smaller. He was fine boned, his body more waif like than the muscular frame Brock had. "Stars above, kid, but you're stunning."

"Thank you." The boy ducked his head as Brock wrapped the towel around him. "W-what are you doing?"

"Preserving what's left of your modesty." Brock grinned at him and ruffled up his hair. "You were real good last night, sweetheart. I'll get you breakfast, get you your cash, and send you on your way." He hummed softly, guiding the younger man out of the bathroom. The kid moved slowly, like he was in a dream. Brock hoped he wasn't sick or something. "You okay, kid?"

The boy nodded. He just sank into the covers and hid his face as Brock dressed. Jack didn't say anything, but he did give Brock a pointed look as he got ready for his own bath. Brock ignored it. He just grabbed his phone, opened the room service menu, and selected his own breakfast. Jack liked eggs and bacon, so Brock ordered him that. It only left the boy and Brock guided him over. He nestled into Brock's chest and watched as he scrolled through. It was only after Brock had gone through the entire thing that he noticed the kid was asleep. Brock only sighed. He ordered an extra coffee, some of those fancy salmon things, and settled down so the boy could rest.

He could talk to Jack later.


	6. Chapter 6

Brock curled up in Jack's lap as soon as the other man had gotten his shower. He loved rubbing his freshly shaved face in Jack's freshly cleaned stubble. It just felt _good_, that was all there was to it. And it felt so much better with a slight kid curled up in his arms. For his part, Jack looked pensive. Like he was considering all the little things that Brock had never thought about before. Things like how they were going to feed another mouth (if the boy wanted to come with them) or why Pierce had given the boy to them. Brock groaned softly as he thought about a few things. Winter wasn't going to be amused by any of this and there was a very real danger that he could kill the boy if he got annoyed enough.

Winter had a habit of pulling people's head off if he was annoyed too much.

Jack stroked Brock's face and kissed his cheek. "You know that kid was supposed to die, don't you?"

"Why would I do that?" Brock mumbled. He pressed a few sleepy kisses down Jack's shirt and gripped him closer. "I'm not in the habit of leaving bodies around and Pierce knows that." Or, well, Brock hoped he did. "I'm a honeypot and a STRIKE Commander. I'm not the Green River Killer."

"And that is the last time I let you watch true crime movies at midnight," Jack muttered.

He rubbed his face and moved so Brock was sprawled out over his chest. Brock squirmed a little bit - he didn't like being like that. It reminded him of the time his nipples had been pierced and gauged. That had hurt and he'd bled so badly that he'd cried out until Pierce had them cut up. He hated pawing at himself. It shamed him, because of all the pain and the scarring he'd had before. His nipples were still sore when it was cold. He wanted to curl up under a blanket and never think about this ever again. Pierce liked to hurt his little honeypots, especially if they were younger. Brock had been recruited when he was still in high school and less than a month later, he was already getting dicked down by men old enough to be his father.

"But I'm not a killer," Brock muttered. "I'm a sniper. I don't like killing people, especially if I've had sex with them." He paused, thinking. "I did kill that one commander, though."

"Brock, he tried to choke you," Jack muttered. He rubbed his face. "I don't blame you for killing him. I'd be worried if you didn't!"

Brock pawed at his shirt and closed his eyes. "I just wanna go back to sleep. Wake me when we get home, please."

"Just put some pants on," Jack growled. He rubbed his face and managed to get Brock on his feet. "Get the kid some pants, too. I'm not stealing towels from a hotel because I'm the only one who's smart enough to see the strings attached. That kid is supposed to be in a dumpster right now, not curled up like he's a stray kitten and you're some do-gooder from the humane society!"

"Just call me Commander PETA," Brock quipped.

"Yeah, no," Jack replied. He threw his shirt at Brock's head and groaned as he picked up his own soiled and battered clothes. "Remind me why we didn't ask if we needed to bring clothes to this little shindig?"

"That was you," Brock murmured. He just smiled as he started pulling his clothes on. "C'mon, kid. Let's get you home."

Jack just kissed him again and shook his head. "Let's just go home."


End file.
